Quint Earthdown: Redemption
by Artemis the Rebel
Summary: Quint Earthdown is a conflicted Jedi survivor of Code 66. He wanders alone, his soul shattered the moment he discovered how the Empire had shattered the Jedi Knights. But something keeps him walking on - a destiny in the foundation of the Rebellion. References to A New Dawn. T for past-tense recounts of alcohol usage.


INTRODUCTION

(Four Years Earlier)

 **QUINT** Earthdown was finally a Jedi Knight, and he could not have been happier. He had been training from birth for this; all of his dreams had finally come true.

They stayed that way for exactly five minutes.

Then his entire world turned upside down forever.

Quint sensed the approach of his former master and smiled, turning around. "Master." He dipped his blond head.

Master Arthurian Liwuk smiled back, stopping in front of his former Padawan and folding his four arms. "You don't have to call me that anymore," he said with a wink. "Soon enough, you'll have your own little apprentice calling _you_ Master."

Quint blushed slightly. "I don't think I'm quite ready for _that_ yet… but I'll continue to call you Master, if you don't mind. It… it would be strange, otherwise… I mean…"

Arthurian cut him off with an amused chuckle. "I understand. My master allowed me to keep calling her Master, too." His smile faded a little, as though his master had, perhaps, not permitted him to do so simply out of the goodness of her heart. "Anyway, Quincy, I wanted to ask you to come on a walk with me."

Quint and Arthurian always went on walks; it was very pleasant and relaxing. Arthurian had once said: "Going for a peaceful walk is a form of cleansing the spirit of stress; doing so is a staple in any Padawan's training." But something in his master's tone made Quint hesitate for a moment. "Of… of course, Master."

The pair walked outside of the Jedi temple – much farther from it than usual. Quint also noticed that the gap between them was abnormally broad.

It was dusk, and the long, purplish grass rustled in a slow and gentle breeze. The new Jedi Knight lifted his chin and breathed it in; this was happiness.

Then Arthurian stopped walking, seized his arm with two hands, and ruined it all.

Quint's silver eyes were wide with confusion as his former master dragged him a few feet farther from the temple. "Master? What's wrong?!"

 _"Ssh,"_ Arthurian hissed, staring nervously towards the Jedi temple for a moment before focusing his blue-green gaze on Quint.

"Master?" Quint asked, obligingly dropping his speech into a whisper. His eyebrows were scrunched together worriedly.

"Quincy," Arthurian said urgently, his own voice low and hurried. Quint hated it when people called him by his full name; he only didn't mind it when his master did. "I need to tell you something – but you have to swear you won't repeat my words to another soul, as long as you live and even when you're dead."

Quint stared back at him. Arthurian had a vice grip on Quint's arm, which was trembling faintly with fear. "I… I swear."

Arthurian took a deep breath, and the following second was when Quint's happy, perfect world crumbled.

"I have joined the Dark Side."

Quint gasped sharply and tried, subconsciously, to leap back, but Arthurian held him fast. _"No!"_

With one of his two free hands, Arthurian gently but firmly prevented his former Padawan from speaking. "Quint, stop. Don't you see? The Jedi are fading. There's a better way, a better way that's coming soon!" Arthurian's eyes were wide and shining with excitement. Quint's were horrified. "I switched my beliefs long ago, and so should you. I'm leaving tonight. I want you to come with me! I've watched you grow from infancy to manhood, Quincy. I want to keep watching you grow – into something as great as you can be." Arthurian smiled brightly. "The Dark Side gives us vast power – with it, we can be unstoppable. We can forge a new way for the galaxy, a better way!" Arthurian withdrew his hands and stepped away, beaming as though he already knew what Quint would choose. "So… what do you say, Quincy?"

Quint's eyes brimmed with tears.

 _"Why?"_ he whispered.

Arthurian flinched, then looked at the Jedi with concern. "Q…Quint?"

Quint blinked and his tears came sliding down. "I'm – I'm sorry – Arthurian." He backed away. "I _can't."_

Arthurian's face fell, then filled with bitterness.

"You'll regret this, Quint," he said, his voice shaking.

Quint tore one of his two lightsabers from his belt and unsheathed it, the green blade cascading out into the semidarkness. He pointed it at Arthurian, rivulets streaming down his face.

Arthurian began to walk backwards, wetness appearing in his resentful eyes. "You have made a mistake tonight," growled Quint's lifelong friend. "I'm warning you for the last time – big things are coming, and I don't want you in harm's way." A little of the abnormal rage faded from his gaze. "I love you, Quincy. You're a son to me. Please don't make me—"

 _"GO OR I'LL MAKE YOU!"_ Quint sobbed, brandishing his saber – but he knew he would never be able to bring himself to hurt his own master, ever.

Arthurian jumped, then whirled around and ran into the darkening twilight.

Quint stared after him, panting, the tears on his face reflecting the glow of his lime green blade.

He never saw his master again.

Much later that night, Quint was in bed, but he had not once even shut his eyes. For the umpteenth time, he cast out his mind, checking if anyone else in the temple was awake.

He inhaled deeply. Finally… he could go.

When Quint had returned to the temple after his old master's betrayal, devastated, all of the Jedi and Padawans had asked him questions. All of them had been answered with mere silence, and eventually they had drifted away to leave him be.

Quint felt bad about that. He felt _horrible._ Arthurian had shattered his heart and left him terrified – for he now knew: _something was coming._

Something catastrophic to everyone in the Republic – and everyone in the galaxy.

And Quint could not face it. He could not face the shame or the heartbreak of his master's treachery. He could not face the fact that he would have to tell someone eventually what had become of Arthurian – and that no one would probably trust Quint as a Jedi or a person ever again because his master had converted to the Dark Side.

"I'm not ready," he whispered to himself, trembling as he got out of bed. He shaved, combed his hair, pulled it back into the long, scruffy ponytail he always wore it in, because he was too meek to ask anyone to cut it for him and too terrible with scissors to do it himself.

Quint stared at his own haggard face in the mirror.

"You're a coward," he told himself quietly. "Stay, fight, be strong…b-but I'm not strong. I'm not ready. _Warn_ them… no, no, no, no, _no."_ He slammed his forehead against the reflective glass. It didn't help.

 _Why am I doing this…_

"Because I'm scared," Quint admitted to himself. "I'm terrified. I don't deserve to be a Jedi."

He got dressed, packed a single sack of belongings, and left the rest of his beloved life behind.

It was very hard, since Quint had never known any way but the Jedi way. He had to keep his identity a secret – which meant that he couldn't use the Force. That was extremely difficult to control – it came so naturally to him. But, just barely, he managed to reign himself in.

Quint could also not use or even practice with his lightsabers. He still kept them clipped to his belt for some reason he wasn't sure of – but he purchased a long, hooded cloak to hide them. Underneath that cloak would one day emerge his new outfit: a haphazard mix of street clothes, black stormtrooper armor, and sturdy brown boots. And outside the cloak was different, too. Quint allowed stubble to appear on his face, and had taken a knife and cut off his ponytail.

The most noticeable change, however, was the absence of hope in his silver eyes – the guilt, the misery, the fear, and the loneliness.

The years crawled by slowly: one, two, three. During the first year, the Clone Wars began, and Quint turned nineteen. He didn't need to listen to the news; the war was everywhere, and staying away from rushing back to his friends was maddening. The war drew on for two more years. When Quint was twenty, it ended – and the _new way_ Arthurian had forewarned, the Empire, came out as the victor.

And Quint's former master had been all too right: the Empire _did_ change the galaxy.

And, one year later, what little remained of Quint's galaxy was completely destroyed.

His life had been horrible enough. All the day long, he worked and worked, packing crates of supplies to be shipped off to the Republic. Quietly, he helped them, but as just another nameless, simple stranger who was only doing it for money – as he told anyone who asked – and not politics. He made no friends and ignored anyone who tried to form a friendship with him, carrying the burden of his heartbroken guilt alone. At first, he was homeless; then he saved up enough credits to purchase the only ship he could afford: a run-down, tiny old freighter, which Quint sullenly named the _Traveler._

Then he was out of a job, for the Republic had lost the war. In fact, as he soon found out, the Republic had been utterly wiped out. The Empire had carried out what they called Code 66, in which they had murdered every Jedi.

Quint's grief exploded. The next morning, he woke up staring at the ceiling of a hospice. The nurse told him that he had gotten himself into a vicious fight at a bar. She said that he had started it and pulled every other customer, willing or otherwise, into the brawl. It had taken an hour for the fight to be broken up, she informed Quint, and not a soul had gotten away without a nasty bruise, at the very least. The nurse said he was lucky he hadn't been jailed; no one had, but most of the customers had come very close. The bartender had been very forgiving, as had been the owner of the bar.

Quint just thought he was lucky he hadn't used his Force abilities in that fight. Maybe he had and no one had noticed. He had no idea – he couldn't remember a thing the nurse had told him. When he shared that with her, she had laughed and said, "Well, to get a fight like that started, you must have gone into that bar in a real bad, real _thirsty_ sort of mood."

Quint could definitely recall how miserable he had been to hear how the war had ended. He suspected his heart would never get back together again.

After leaving the hospice (he was wearing several bandages and an arm sling), Quint returned to the bar (he'd gotten its name from the kind nurse) and helped the two men working there finish cleaning up. He even insisted on paying for a broken chair with what little money he had left – he'd been poor before the hospice bills. Now, Quint was penniless.

The owner of the bar and the bartender were both very understanding and impressed by Quint's good nature. The bar's owner introduced himself as Okadiah, and the bartender was named Kanan. Quint reluctantly told them his first name as well; he owed them as much.

Okadiah offered Quint a small drink on the house, and a sack of credits. Quint politely turned him down.

"Thank you, but I suspect I had quite enough last night," Quint remarked. "And I can't accept your money. A man should work for his credits. I caused you both so much trouble; it just wouldn't be fair."

Okadiah smiled, but his white eyebrows lifted curiously. "You're a good man, Quint – a good, strange man." He shook his head. "If you need to work for your money… you can clean the tables."

Kanan and Okadiah stared incredulously as Quint went about cleaning all of the tables. Quint took his time, too, doing a fantastic job. Then he accepted the money he had earned.

"That's… that's very kind of you," Quint said, staring into the pouch of credits in astonishment.

"Well, you did earn it – and, as my good buddy Kanan here always says, the smallest act of kindness can fill a galaxy." Okadiah patted Kanan on the shoulder. The tall, dark-haired young man looked embarrassed.

Quint felt like someone had stabbed a lightsaber into his heart. "I… Isn't that a… J-Jedi saying?" he stammered quietly.

Quint saw Kanan flinch and glance away. "Yeah…" he mumbled, looking back at Quint, his cyan eyes narrowed. "I guess it is. How do you know that?" He sounded strangely like he was struggling to seem inconspicuous.

Seeing the increasingly miserable expression on Quint's face, Okadiah gave Kanan a sharp nudge. "Leave the man alone, Kanan. If you know a random old saying, so can a kind stranger."

"Thank you for your kindness, forgiveness, and generosity," Quint said quickly, dipping his head. He was suddenly very strongly suspicious that Kanan was with the Empire – a spy, perhaps. "I'll never forget either of you… because what your friend says, Okadiah, is true." Quint looked up at them, his silver eyes beginning to brim with tears – because all he had ever known and loved was destroyed, because he couldn't help but believe that he could have saved _someone_ had he stayed, because all that was left of the Republic was _him:_ a worthless coward who didn't deserve to be a Jedi. "The smallest act of kindness can fill a galaxy."

Then he left for the last time, leaving Kanan and Okadiah to stare after him in wonder.

"Who _was_ that?" Okadiah asked Kanan, bewildered.

"No idea." Kanan began to polish a mug with a rag. "But I can say for sure – with the Empire crawling around, snapping up the nice guys like fyrnocks – we're never going to see him again."

Okadiah sadly could only agree.


End file.
